The adventures of Dora Bell, detective

by Mrs. George Corbett

But this view of the case, excited my impulsive client so much that I with difficulty restrained his prematurely triumphant exultation, and when he left our office he seemed to be firmly convinced that his wife would still become possessor of what was left of her father’s estate. As she was an only child, it had always been natural to suppose herself the heiress, and as at first one beloved piece of land and then another was sold by the present possessor she found it very hard to hear of such wanton waste of fine property. Probably she would share her husband’s newly-awakened hopes and enthusiasm when he told her of his interview with me.

And were these hopes quite as unfounded as they appear at the first blush?

Probably not.

I had been so much chagrined at the manner in which I had been outwitted by Mrs Calmour, that I had resolved to ferret well into her past life, and rake thence such items of interest as would help to turn the tables on her, and return to Mrs Churchill the property which I deemed morally hers.

I had already made good progress in my researches before I was consulted again by my client. But it would not have been wise, from a professional point of view, to betray the full extent of my knowledge at once. Clients have sometimes a rather a nasty knack of imagining that the remuneration due to a private detective is commensurate with the amount of research required after a case has been actually taken in hand on their behalf. They forget that all the knowledge and experience which is anterior to their application for their assistance has been the result of determined labour and forethought, without which no detective could hope to succeed, and which deserve ultimate interest equally with the client’s own provision for the future, whether it be in the shape of invested funds or acquired mental knowledge.

Of course, a great proportion of our clients are of a more reasonable nature. But the exceptions have taught us caution, and we rarely fall into a confidential mood until we are quite sure that our professional prestige will not suffer by doing so.

Thus it happened that I forebore to tell Mr Churchill how hopeful I really considered his wife’s cause to be. But I knew enough already to have made Mrs Calmour quake in her shoes, could she have guessed that I was on her trail. For instance, I knew that a certain Mr Selby formerly posed as the guardian of the lady, who, by-the-by, was at least thirty-six years of age, though she only owned to being twenty-seven. On making certain inquiries, I learned something else about Mr Selby, and came to the conclusion that his doings were quite as shady as those of his “ward.”

He made it a practice to hunt up charming country cottages or handsomely furnished suites of rooms and to offer such liberal terms for them as tempted their owners to take a lodger in for once, in order to earn an extra honest penny. Then Mr Selby, who had sung the praises of his accomplice sky-high, would superintend the installation of that individual with much empressement. The lady, whom he always represented as rich, and whom he endowed with fictitious relationship to people of note, who would have repudiated all connection with her, would bring her maid and her bosom female crony, a certain Miss Losteel, and they and the reputed guardian would eat and drink the poor hosts into ruination.

This would last until the latter began to look askance at the idea of always receiving excuses instead of money, and then the gang would suddenly seek fresh victims. Oddly enough, the victimised hosts generally found that some of their treasured knick-knacks always disappeared at the same time as their swindling lady lodger, who, while the spell of her fascination lasted, borrowed money for stamps, stationery, railway fares, and any other thing for which money is absolutely needed.

The woman was short, squat, dark, and of curious, square set features. While under the aegis of the charm which she could use at will, people found all sorts of excuses for her constant lapses into vulgarity, and smiled at the egregious vanity she displayed. Once fully alive to the unscrupulous creature’s real nature, they wondered how such an ugly incarnation of selfishness could ever have fascinated them, and were inclined to attribute her power to sorcery, or hypnotism, or to anything but the deep-laid plots of mere cunning.